


flashes in the pan

by Bee_4



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (SO MANY OF THESE ARE ANGST WHY ARE THEY ALL ANGST), Angst, Ficlet Collection, Flash Fic, Gen, mind the warnings and descriptions on each individual chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 11:47:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30105492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bee_4/pseuds/Bee_4
Summary: a collection of dream smp flash fiction, most of which i write in discord in a haze while i'm discussing with people, because i figured it should gosomewhere.chapter titles and the summaries tell you what is in each chapter, numbering means that if i do return to an old concept you can keep track. all of these concepts are free to use because they're unfinished and iprobablywon't return to them, enjoy.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	1. 1 // scenes from the bad end of the disc war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1a: tommy, without tubbo. (tw: major character death)  
> 1b: sam leads puffy into the prison to visit tommy.

**#1a: do you blame yourself?**

Tommy would blame himself for Tubbo dying (nevermind that Tubbo wouldn't want him to do that, or that it's because Dream is a bastard). And Tommy would _never recover from that_. He's just. Stuck in this world where he has to figure out how to just be himself, instead of Tommy and Tubbo, which is something he barely reconciled with in exile and didn't really have to deal with.

When he was in exile, he always knew where his Tubbo was, no matter where he was on this bitch of an earth. wWhen he was in exile, he may have been furious at Tubbo, and hurting, and betrayed, and unable to see him, but he was there, and Tommy oriented himself around Tubbo still. Tommy never stopped thinking of him still. _Tubbo was still north in Tommy's heart._

Tubbo is still north in Tommy's heart. Tubbo is dead.

North goes nowhere.

(They visit him daily in the prison, but he doesn't talk to them, and he only eats when he has to. His eyes are grey again. No matter how many clothes or how many conversations or how many discs they play or how many... no matter what, his eyes aren't blue again.)

(It's his fault. He knows it. It's his fault. It's his fault.)

Tubbo is gone.

(Tommy is gone.)

He will never recover from this.

**#1b: the bad ending**

Sam is half asleep on the desk when he brings Puffy through the portal. He’s been sleeping, Puffy knows, right here in the lobby of the prison, and the blankets and sleeping bags weren’t well hidden anymore. He said it was because people kept on trying to visit daily, anyway, so there wasn’t much of a point to walking back and forth between the prison and his home. The prisoner in the prison is important, after all. It was safer for everyone if Sam temporarily set up shop at the prison itself, rather than thousands of blocks away inside of the cliffside. 

Puffy doesn’t want to think about what Sam’s been keeping in the chests outside to manage that healthily, mostly because she doesn’t think Sam is managing it healthily at all. There are deep bags under his eyes. His face is drawn in a way Puffy doesn’t like. She’s brought pumpkin pie. Sam takes it, and barely eats a slice, and smiles for her for a moment. He puts the rest in a chest he’s shoved under the desk. They walk in silence to their places. They’ve done this enough times by now, she thinks, that it’s almost routine, for good or for ill.

She puts her things in the locker. She walks through the halls. She carefully activates the respawn rune on a bed. Sam reluctantly presses a button. She dies. She wakes up. 

“One day you’re going to forget that,” she says, shaking off the aftereffects of the search.

“Maybe,” Sam says. “I don’t think I’m allowed. How is Bad?”

“The same.”

“...yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The prison was impressive and terrifying the first time. This is not at all the first time. She’s lost count, really. It’s stopped being scary. It’s mostly tedious now. She stands still for the manual search. Sam sighs.

The walls blink at her, and she stiffens up. Appearances. Keep appearances. She activates another rune.

Sam kills her.

She wakes up.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry!” she says, brightly. “I think I’m getting used to it.”

Sam looks so, so tired. “So am I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at one point i considered writing a bad end fic, but it got lost somewhere in the large sea of wips i have, so... here is this.


	2. 2 // time loop karl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2: it took more tries than karl hoped it would, to save l'manburg (tw: temporary character death, implied suicide)

**#2: how many tries until karl gives up on saving everyone?**

He looks up to an exploded L'Manburg.

He scrawls it down in the pages of his book. The notes are getting shorter now. Wilbur. Button room. Festival. HIDE IT. He breaks the button. He closes the book. He breathes. His chest aches and spirals. He goes back. He hides the room under piles of dirt and stone, breaking the button for good measure— 

—he looks up to a hanging body.

He scrawls it down in the pages of his book. The notes are getting shorter. GET ONE OF HIS FRIENDS TO HELP HIM. He closes the book. He breathes. His chest aches and spirals. He goes back. He convinces Simon to do an update that will end the Potato war a month sooner, and Technoblade joins, and— 

—he wakes up to an exploded L'Manburg.

He scrawls it down on the pages of his book. The notes are starting to tear holes through the paper. Withers. He breathes. His chest aches and spirals. He blocks Eret's wither farm before Technoblade can find it. Fewer withers. Only the ones he'd find naturally. That should— 

—he wakes up to an exploded L'Manburg.

He scrawls it down on the pages of his book. He can't breathe when he reads the notes sometimes, and the notes are all he has. Father, his father. His chest aches and spirals. He slashes a gap in the border between the SMP and other worlds that Philza can climb through, and he prays, and—

—he wakes up to an exploded L'Manburg.

He heaves another dry sob over Quackity and Sapnap's bodies. He's not sure how many times he's done this. The notes are hard to read, water-stained and burnt as they are. He knows by now he can't stop it entirely. Can he minimize the damage? Schlatt should be in the van, not on the podium—

—he wakes up to an exploded L'Manburg.

He starts crying when he sees how many of them are still alive. How many tries left? How many tries until his book's too unreadable for him to keep going, and he forgets, and they have to live with the timeline they land on then?

How many explosions until it's all his fault?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because there isn't enough time traveler karl angst already,


	3. 3, 4 // badlands fics, mostly bad and skeppy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3a: bad contemplates why he chose the egg  
> 3b: bad and skeppy have a lot of egg-related trauma, after  
> 4: the badlands is by far the funniest faction and not enough people acknowledge this

**#3a: bad’s decision was easy**

So here's the thing: Bad couldn't have ever let them end like this, not really.

The first time, the Egg had its grip pretty hard around Bad's throat. Honestly, what the Egg was offering him then was weak, he'd just hadn't adjusted. He'd been summoned to the human plane for way too long, and wasn't really prepared anymore to fight off the influence of something like the Egg! What it had offered him then was all the power he needed, mostly, which in hindsight was kind of lame, but listen, everyone but Skeppy kept on leaving him behind and Skeppy had been sick and unable to hang out and he'd been lonely and it had been a way to fix it, for a little bit.

The first time around? What the Egg had offered the first time had been  _ weak _ . But that hadn't stopped it from getting into his head, and here's a thing about demons: they can't really say no to deals, once they're made, and they're built for the hierarchies of Hell, not for following their own orders.

The second time around, after Skeppy was gone and it was all Bad's fault, well— the second time around, what the Egg offered was Bad's entire world.

(A year and a day after being summoned to earth, Bad had held his claws over Skeppy's soul with trembling fingers and prepared to do his duty. The danger of summoning a demon is that, in the end, they're supposed to take their end of the deal and bring it back to their commander in Hell. But Skeppy asked him to stay, and the third thing he'd commanded Bad to do (after "Hi, I'm Skeppy, holy shit, you're a demon, tell me your name?" and "Wait wait wait don't kill me, please!") was "So, do you wanna tell me what you wanna do here?" Eventually, Bad had learned he could stop listening to those things. Eventually, Bad had learned that third order was vague enough to last Skeppy's lifetime.)

(Skeppy had asked:  _ stay _ and had ordered:  _ what do you want to do here?) _

(Bad had taken his claw away. Bad had stayed.)

Bad couldn't have ever done anything else, not really.

**#3b: bad, skeppy, after.**

The house is too big and empty.

It’s felt too big and empty for a while as Skeppy holds Bad’s wrist tightly and feels Bad’s tail and claws tightly around his wrist, too. There’s not enough sound, and the walls are still half-destroyed from when neither of them were bothering to fix it. Maybe they shouldn’t be living in a mansion anymore. Maybe they shouldn’t be living here, where there are still deep imprints from where red vines had gouged their way through the marble–

But where else would they go?

Ant left the SMP for a bit and no one had blamed him. He’s with Velvet, piecing back together his identity when there’s nothing whispering in his head. Sam was staying with Ponk who was staying at some house Ponk had apparently inherited and didn’t want to let anyone see. Ponk isn’t letting Sam overwork himself at the prison, which is good, because otherwise Skeppy thinks Sam probably would have lost himself to being the Warden and absolutely no one else for a while. Puffy is… Skeppy doesn’t know where Puffy is. With Technoblade, possibly, or in Niki’s secret city, possibly? Bad said that he didn’t blame Puffy for not wanting to see them for a little bit, given the whole ‘hiring a hitman to kidnap and/or murder her’ scenario, although she promised that wasn’t it so much as the guilt that weighed on her still, the guilt that wasn’t fair.

And then there’s him and Bad. Afraid to let go of each other for too long. Standing in a half-destroyed mansion, with empty rooms they’d never finished the interiors for, places where vines were destroying the walls, and there’s an echo, and every time Skeppy turns a corner he expects to hear whispers. The bedroom is too empty and the bed is too big and soft. They end up sleeping on the floor, tangled in each other. Even in their sleep, they aren’t letting go.

Neither of them miss it (they do, they do). Neither of them want to go back (who are they at this point without it?). They’re banned from the spider spawner (the one time After they’d been there they’d frozen up entirely). 

Bad screams one morning and starts pulling down everything red still left in the mansion. He comes back with a bucket of blue paint, and the two of them spend all day painting the walls blue. That way, they’ll know if it happens again, right? They’ll have to.

Quackity comes by to check on them and has to remind them to eat.

And Skeppy thinks: they probably can’t stay here. But where else can they go? Besides, they built this together. That’s what they’d loved about the mansion for so long. They’d built it together.

Bad says: “We’re both sad potatoes, aren’t we?” and his voice cracks when he does. Skeppy looks at the sunrise. It makes the sky look red.

“Maybe a little,” Skeppy says, as they both wonder what’s supposed to happen now.

**#4: the badlands are hilarious**

When Sam had joined the Badlands, he’d done it for a number of reasons, really. Their promise of eventual peace was one of the biggest ones, even if that peace was going to achieved by pretty unethical means. It’s not like Sam’s a stranger to unethical means or anything. Just because he’s nice doesn’t mean… anyway. He’d joined them for the promise of getting an actual say in things, too, more so than he had been getting. He’d joined them because he wanted power, just a bit, but hey, who doesn’t?

When he’d joined on, he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Secret meetings about how to turn the server conflicts in their favor. Requests to do redstone work. Some good old classic resource gathering. They have a meeting room. There’s a map scrawled across the table and notes on the walls. It’s not as though they don’t have those things, right? 

It’s just that.

He looks across the table. For some reason, for the past… oh… thirty-two hours… Bad and Skeppy have not let go of each other.

Currently, while Bad discusses a plan in order to gain shadow political influence over the new nation of Snowchester, he’s also sprawled across Skeppy’s lap exactly like a cat would. Skeppy isn’t commenting on this. No one is commenting on this. Bad is stretched across Skeppy’s lap like an oversized cat, talking about war crimes, and no one is talking about this.

Sam looks over at Antfrost, the actual cat in the Badlands. Antfrost doesn’t even acknowledge the two of them.

Sam sighs.

Bad and Skeppy start arguing because Skeppy’s leg has gone numb under Bad’s weight. They still won’t let go of each other. The map on the table has battle formations drawn in nontoxic, washable markers. They were Skeppy’s markers. They were bright blue and red.

Ant pipes up with a suggestion. Sam nods, silently acknowledging that they’re all just going to ignore the fact that Bad and Skeppy seem to be arguing over heights (???), a pet fish from eight years ago (?????), and something about who is clingier  _ (????????) _ instead of paying attention to the meeting. Ah. Yes. Sensible. Except it’s not sensible, because Ant’s solution to the problem of “the SMP seems to be on the brink of a cold war that does not currently benefit us” is  _ murder, _ so, Sam’s going to have to be the one to talk them down out of that one.

Somewhere in the middle of Sam trying to talk their plan from “political assassinations to turn the cold war into a hot one” to “start with a complicated system of alliances first so we don’t just have another ‘they blow up L’Manburg and nothing changes for us’” scenario, Skeppy asks if they’ve planned around Joe.

“Skeppy, I’m not going to fall for a Joe Mama joke,” Sam says at the exact same time as Antfrost, who knows exactly what he’s doing, says: “Joe who?”

Skeppy and Bad’s faces light up.

And to think, Sam’s still convinced they’re the most competent faction on the SMP. Incredible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i constantly have egg arc emotions. GUYS IF YOU WANT SOMEONE WHO IS POSSESSED AND IS PUSHING AWAY HIS FRIENDS DUE TO OUTSIDE INFLUENCE YOU DON'T NEED TO USE THE DREAMON, BAD IS _RIGHT THERE_ , CANONICALLY! the badlands are sure a place.


	4. 5, 6, 7 // character studies part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5: l'manburg was its people.  
> 6: tubbo and quackity understand each other. (tw: abuse mentions)  
> 7: wilbur and his unfinished symphony. (tw: suicidal thoughts, sort of)

**#5: tubbo and ranboo in the aftermath of doomsday**

"If the place mattered so much, you could rebuild again," Ranboo says. He and Tubbo stand at the bottom of the crater. Ranboo had used his trident; Tubbo had just climbed down the sheer edges. He'd had practice before, after all. "You're pretty good at navigating this place. You could build the houses into the walls, and put up catwalks between them. It'll be harder to blow up, too."

"You don't want us to," Tubbo says, and Ranboo shrugs, doing that thing where he looks slightly to the side of you, but still seems like he's looking right through you anyway.

"Not really," says Ranboo. "But you all seem to like the place a lot. So, if the place matters all that much, there's not anything that can stop you from rebuilding."

And Tubbo thinks of Nikki, standing silhouetted in front of the burning L'Mantree.

"You're right," he says. "If the place was what mattered, I would have already started."

"Huh," says Ranboo, quietly, and they go back to trying to find iron and diamonds in the remains of something that will never be rebuilt.

**#6: schlatt left marks.**

When Tubbo and Quackity walk across each other, outside the prison, with a dreamcatcher in Tubbo's bunker and blood underneath Quackity's fingernails, they only nod to each other. Grim. They don't bother trying to explain.

Unfortunately, they both understand each other. Unfortunately, they both learned different lessons, once, under Schlatt. Unfortunately, they both learned the same lesson, once, under Schlatt.

Tubbo may have learned a certain degree of... subservience that disguises nukes. The person with the biggest bomb wins in the end. If he can make them afraid, Just a little, he can make himself safe, but until then, you have to... keep your head low. Oh, keep your head low, Tubbo, you know what a broken bottle can do.

Quackity learned a certain degree of defiance needs to be couched in cleverness. He wanted change, and oh, he'll get change. He just has to convince the people they want it first. If you can't convince them they want it first, well. You know what a broken bottle can do, don't you, Quackity? Right up until the breaking point.

They learned different lessons.

They learned the same lesson.

Unfortunately, they understand each other perfectly well.

**#7: death, the author**

"Do you think, when I die, that would be death of the author?" 

"Don't talk like that," Tommy snaps, watching as Wilbur swings his feet from the catwalks of Pogtopia.

"But Tommy!" Wilbur says, a notebook in his hand and fire in his eyes. "Imagine! A playwrite, dramatically writing his last lines! He writes his own death onto the page, forever cutting off the story he was telling, so that it can only be his!" He swings down, jumping from the catwalk. Tommy makes an aborted motion to catch him, not that Wilbur needed it or Tommy could do anything, anyway.

"Sounds a bit morbid, doesn't it?"

"That's the art of it! Exunt, the playwrite! Exunt, the  _ play _ ."

(After the explosions, Wilbur leaves Tommy a ruined manuscript, burnt and unreadable, and a pen. Tommy hides it in his coat when he's exiled, and doesn't write anything down, for fear of what would be written.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's kind of hard to sort some of these because they're too short for a single chapter but they aren't super related. occasionally i'm probably just going to do dumps like this. anyway, i have... thoughts. about all of this.


	5. 8 // smp earth, if it were canon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8: if smp earth was canon that would have some _implications_ , huh?

**#8: smp earth but i actually take it seriously**

Tubbo grabs a twenty dollar bill and hands it to Tommy and tells him to kill Dream and they laugh. It’s an inside joke. Just an inside joke. 

They’re not starting any wars here, right?

Right.

A second chance.

* * *

When Eret joins the revolution, Tommy and Wilbur look at each other, turn to Eret, and ask: “Didn’t you steal Hawaii?”

Eret shrugs. “What Hawaii?”

“Is that why that was gone?” Tubbo asks, sounding far too delighted. “Is that why there was only a former Hawaii? I had always wondered about that! I only ever saw the map and thought, that’s weird, there isn’t a Hawaii there!”

“What,” says Fundy.

* * *

Tommy calls Eret worse than Wisp and doesn’t explain, but Wilbur visibly winces, and Tubbo does too. Eret doesn’t. Fuck Eret.

* * *

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Tommy says. He and Wilbur sit at the bottom of a ravine. Wilbur’s recovering from being shot. Their nation is gone from under their feet. “I absolutely cannot believe I’m about to try this. This is probably the dumbest idea I’ve ever had.”

“I agree,” says Wilbur.

“You aren’t supposed to agree! I’ll have you know that, that Technoblade and I have respect for each other now. We understand each other.”

“He drop kicked your entire country for fun.”

“That was mostly Philza.”

“Was it though?”

“Shut up, bitch.” Tommy had missed the bantering Wilbur. They’d made friends since they’d gotten here. They’d sort of been friends before, too, sort of, in the way of people who’d been allies, and then enemies, and then allies again, and then enemies again for real that time. But here they’d finally  _ understood _ each other. They’d made a nation! They’d reconciled and shit. Tommy had accidentally called him Wilby. And now, instead of the impish leader that Tommy had known for so long, Wilbur was...

Tommy would let himself get made fun of for that laugh again.

“Go ahead then,” Wilbur says. “Call Technoblade.”

“I will,” Tommy says.

The former emperor laughs at him for five minutes straight. 

Yeah, figures.

* * *

Philza with a sword sticking through Wilbur isn’t something all that new, in the end. His wings are wide. There’s blood on Technoblade’s face. None of these are new images. They sting, just a bit, but if anything it puts Tommy standing where he always has.

Tommy misses Deo. He misses Luke. He misses Blitzel. (He even sort of misses Wisp.)

He picks up his sword regardless.

* * *

Ranboo isn’t sure why no less than five people have asked him if he’s from the moon. He’s not from the moon. Probably. He’d remember if he was from the moon, wouldn’t he? That seems like the sort of thing he wouldn’t forget, even given the amnesia. It’s concerning, though, that Philza, who Ranboo had always considered at least a little level-headed, is also fairly convinced he’s from the moon.  _ Because that’s where endermen are from. _

The one thing Ranboo will ever agree with Dream about is this: he absolutely cannot let these people get their hands on an End Portal. Ever. He’s never going to let that happen. 

This does not stop Ranboo from seeing how long he can hold his breath in a contest with Tommy, less than twenty-four hours before Tommy is exiled, because if Endermen really are from the moon, that means that he should be able to not breathe oxygen, right? They sit there letting Ranboo hold his breath for about an hour before they realize that it’s kind of pointless.

Tommy proclaims that this proves Ranboo is from the moon.

Ranboo says that it sounds wrong but he guesses he doesn’t know enough about himself or the moon to dispute it.

* * *

“You don’t scare me, you… you green bitch. I’ve killed god before, you know!” He shoves a finger in Dream’s chest. “I’ve killed god before, and I figure that makes me stronger than you are! Go all vanished and creative mode and shit, ohhhh, you big pussy! Try all your little op tricks, they won’t scare me! Bitch!”

Dream laughs, and hits him with his axe again, but there's something about Tommy's eyes that...

Exile really was the only choice, here.

* * *

“You are hereby being arrested for—”

“Tubbo, you got killed by Pete while he was AFK. Go home. I won’t warn you twice.”

* * *

Here are some things on the list of Ghostbur’s memories:

\- Stealing the Dragon Egg

\- Sophie and the dogs

\- Everyone looking up at him during the trial

\- Visiting the moon

\- No longer being god

\- Flying in planes, on those rare occasions he had enough cash to afford one.

Here are some things that are not on the list of things he remembers, but in hindsight, would have warned him about quite a bit:

\- Philza kidnapping his dog and faking killing it in front of him in order to prove a point

\- Sophie, and the dogs, and how Wilbur had screwed that up

\- The look on Tommy’s face when he kicked Tommy from their alliance

\- Hawaii, apparently

\- Technoblade’s tendency towards wrath at the smallest of slights

\- Being god

Here is something he sort of remembers, but sort of doesn’t, and that should have warned him, too:

\- The top light is always on in the back of his head, and it means DEFCON 1, and Wilbur doesn’t know what that means anymore.

* * *

And when hellfire rains down later, neither Tommy nor Technoblade are surprised by the second betrayal. Disappointed, maybe; it would have been fun, to be on the same side for once a little longer. But Tommy’s an instigator and a scam artist and trusting him would be dumb, and Technoblade’s destructive and obsessive and trusting him would be equally dumb. So they stand, TNT collapsing, Philza firing death down from above, on the same sides they’ve always stood on, and that’s fine.

It really is. 

* * *

Ranboo hears the story and asks: “So how did he convince you to help him?”

Technoblade is hunched over when he says: “He said that wars weren’t games, here,” with something heavy in his voice.

Ranboo hears the story and asks: “Why did you convince him to help you?”

Tommy is hunched over when he says: “It was supposed to be our second chance,” with something heavy in his voice.

Ranboo doesn’t ask again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> never make me take smp earth this seriously again. lord knows smp earth didn't.


	6. 9 // when, not if

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9: technoblade and ghostza. (tw: major character death)

**#9: when, not if.**

There's an ugly-looking perch on Technoblade's house, because Philza like this is flighty, barely leaving the sky. Techno thinks that somewhere in his heart, he remembers losing his wings in the explosion with Wilbur. Sure, asking Phil about it yields no answers, just like asking a lot of things yields no answers, but—well. Phil doesn't like getting close to sea level anymore, so Techno builds an ugly perch on top of his house with a water elevator Techno can climb to make sure Phil doesn't forget to bundle up and freeze to death.

Phil isn't like Ghostbur. It's not exactly that Phil's forgotten the sad things. If he'd forgotten the sad things, Techno thinks, Phil wouldn't look at Wilbur like that, or wouldn't sometimes sit on the tops of trees just desperately preening his wings. It's more like death had finally sapped all of the chaos, all of the wildness, all of the... he doesn't want to say all of the Phil. That's not fair. That's not right, either. Phil's always liked building, and pretty things, and the sky, but— 

—he's. Soft. And it's terrifying. It's terrifying and sad because Techno misses the way he'd cackle as they fought back zombies, the wheezing laughs over airstrikes and battlefields, or the simpler chaos, the jokes and mean jabs that were just... how the two of them communicated. There's none of the blood. Technoblade looks at the ghost of his best friend and wonders if they'd ever have connected, if this strange, soft, flighty bird of a person had been the person Technoblade had gotten to know, rather than the Angel of Death.

He's not sure. There's a chest of totems that Technoblade keeps adding to. Phil won't let him get near him with them, and there's a look in his eyes that means Techno doesn't. He's never been able to say no to Phil. Even now, when he doesn't know who he's looking at, he's never been able to say no to Phil.

At night, he doesn't wonder what he's done to deserve losing everyone. He just wonders why Phil did too.

Here's the thing: people are more scared of Technoblade, and Techno had always protected Phil, but Phil protected Techno in equal measure. They're best friends. Techno would die for Phil. Techno had hoped Phil wouldn't do the same, but. Well.

Here's the thing: Technoblade had always used Wilbur and Phil as buffers between him and other people. He isn't good at people. Wilbur, Wilbur was good at people. and Phil? Phil knew how to just not care. but Wilbur had died, and revived, and broken, and Techno's not sure he knows Wilbur anymore. And Phil—Phil, Phil, Phil, Phil—Techno can't do that with Ghostza. (He hates the name, by the way. Philza uses it as a joke, but it's not got the sharp edges that most of Phil's jokes have, and it's too... this has to still be Philza. He has to be.) He can't use someone who seems to lose hours of time just building and flying and being as a barrier between the world and himself, because it would eat Ghostza alive, and Techno knows it.

He wonders if he should re-teach Philza some of the things they'd learned on the battlefield, like how to never turn their backs to anyone but each other and how to find humor in bleak, ashen remains. For some reason, he can't bring himself to.

Without the usual conduits, though, the usual people Techno had long used to get him in the door when it came to actually talking to people, he spends more time in the turtle farm, spends more time alone, spends so, so much time not talking. Ranboo makes an attempt? Techno's surprised to be grateful for it, surprised to feel much of anything.

He'd sobbed at the funeral. He'd held the funeral, and he'd sobbed at it, broken down. He thinks, that if his enemies had arrived at that moment, he wouldn't have noticed, or at least not cared. He hasn't cried since, mostly because the reason he realized that Phil wasn't his safe barrier anymore is when the ghost asked him, whileTechno broke down, who the funeral was for.

After all, he was still here, right?

On the day Philza had died, everyone knew.

God, everyone knew.

On the day Philza had died, the world stood still, and broke, and did not start turning again, even once a winged ghost with a face younger than Techno had ever seen it sat on the top of Techno's roof. 

And Technoblade made sure everyone knew.

Techno hadn't really planned to live after that. The world had stopped turning. But he can't just leave Phil here. He can't just... leave the man. so he's stuck. He's staring at the reminder. He hasn't finished washing the blood out of his coat and he doesn't think it will ever come out from beneath his fingertips. He hadn't planned to. He hadn't planned for the world ending.

It surprised him and everyone else when he persisted, after that.

Techno followed the man like a limping dog as Philza visited places on the server to add high-up builds. He did not look at the looks on their faces at the shadows under his eyes and the way he looked blankly forward. The way his presence was an implied threat, and an implied tragedy. He is so tired, but he can't really leave yet. He can't. He can't.

Loyalty until the end. He offers his loyalty to those who give it to him. and he does not break it, not until the moment they break it first. And Phil... Phil has never once broken Techno's trust.

So Techno can't leave.

Not until he figures out how to fix this.

Even though it can't be fixed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ghostza except he's the woobified phil the fandom made up before philza actually joined the smp send tweet (i am crying)


	7. 10 // quackity plays death at cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10: you gamble with your life from time to time. happens.

**#10: a game against death.**

"Hit me."

The lights to Las Nevadas aren't on yet. The tables are only lit by an eerie backlight from the cave in the wall. The cave Quackity wasn't supposed to walk out of. The cave at the end of the rails. 

Quackity looks down at his hand, then he looks back up to Death with his bloody gold tooth and broken eye and he smiles. 

"Hit me," he says.

"Really?" says Death, mildly. "That's quite the chance you're taking, for someone gambling with what you are."

"I'm already all-in," Quackity says.

"Very well."

Another card hits Quackity's hand. He glances at the numbers and does some mental math. The thing with Blackjack is that the dealer always wins ties, but the dealer has to stop drawing when they hit seventeen. The dealer goes last. The game is rigged, but you play with three decks, and isn't everything in Las Nevadas rigged, anyway?

Quackity never liked games that were the classic ones you played with Death, anyway, like chess or go, the ones that are all in the control of both parties. There's a lot more luck in real life. 

And people say  _ chess _ is the game of wars.

"Hit me."

"If you bust—"

"For someone who sounds just like Wilbur, you've got no sense of  _ adventure _ , man."

Death can't really give expressions, but Quackity gets the impression of a quirked eyebrow anyway. Another card hits the table.

Quackity adds his cards together, and he does not smile, because he has a better poker face than that. He wonders what the odds were, that they'd all be hearts. The two of hearts, the three of hearts, the five of hearts, the ace of hearts, and the suicide king himself.

"Dealer's turn," Quackity says, and Death, who deals the cards, seems to already know who's won. Still, they'll both play out their hands, won't they?

No wonder Dream got a big head, Quackity thought. He was the type to play something like chess. Death deals in cards, though. Quackity can see it in the places his eyes aren't.

Death draws, and then lays out his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO THAT QUACKITY STREAM, HUH GUYS? there's a _lot_ I'm still super happy about in this fic even if I never plan on writing this universe again. like, this is the fic that made me realize i should probably put my discord flash fiction all in one place for people to read


	8. 11 // mortal techno in the feywild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11a: technoblade, mortal in the feywild, knows a few rules for himself, and says them plainly.  
> 11b: years later, technoblade talks out the past with philza, fey in the mortal realm.

**#11a: techno, as the one mortal amongst those who are not, has learned some truths.**

Here is something you learn when you are the only mortal amongst those who are not:

First: You make yourself big. You make yourself larger than life. You pace around a glass and steel cage and get ready to drop down on islands of bloodshed, and you make yourself flashy. You become known for living. You become known as unkillable. You make your name famous. You shake their hands as they present you with ranks and names, and you never trust them, not even once.

Second: You make your words careful, even to the voices in your head, because if you are mortal, then they are not. You sound reserved. You sound quiet. The smart ones know you're more emotive than you sound at first. The even smarter ones know its because you're as calculating in your words as in everything else. You hide parts of yourself carefully. You cannot give your whole self away. You cannot do that, not when you are mortal, and they are not.

Third: You do not let them know you remember being spirited away. You do not let them know you know what life amongst mortals was. You never die. That is what you let them know. Blood. That is what you let them know. You do not let them know you remember your brother's face, and you do not let them know you remember your parents humming. Time passes differently here. They are likely dead. You will not be. You cannot trust.

Fourth: You meet a man with grey and white wings, and he smiles at you, and you forget not to trust him.

That is, you think, your first mistake.

**#11b: techno, mortal, who understands better than the immortal ever could.**

Techno finds Philza with his wings splayed wide, sitting on the edge of the window. The wind blows. Past them, they see rows of pretty human houses.Their garden is wild, and it's going to make the neighborhood association mad at them again to give an excuse for Philza and Niki to politely insult each other's lineages for another week. Tommy is going to try to start human school, apparently. Techno has doorknobs made of iron, and Dream's blood infused on his longbow, now. Techno knows they won't try to drag them out of the human world for a long time now.

Philza's feet hang off of the edge of the window.

"You shouldn't stay with me," he says. Techno blinks.

"Uhhhh, Phil..."

"I... I made you into someone who had to stay with me. We treated you like livestock. Like a... like one of Tubbo's dolls."

"The ones he decapitates?"

"Yes!" Philza's wings go wide and arched. "Like one of those! And I don't fully understand it still but I understand now it was wrong. You shouldn't have to stay with us. You... this is supposed to be where you're from.You shouldn't have to..."

Techno thinks for a bit. "I can stay with Schlatt for a few weeks if you need space."

"That's not what i mean," Phil says, and— 

—Techno has never left the Feywild. Not in his head. He knows full well that's not what Phil means. He remembers Before.

"Why are you still here?" Phil asks.

"Ehhh, nowhere else to go," Techno says. "and you care now."

Phil makes a keening noise. He sits, halfway fallen off the balcony, and Techno stands above him, looking out over their ruined garden, and looking out over the human neighborhood they've grown to fit in. They don't speak for a while now, but Phil buries his face in his hands, and for a moment, Techno thinks Phil looks more human than he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lavender tea discord calls this the fae sitcom au, and no, i can't explain it unless you were there. here are the bits for that i wrote that were proper fic though


	9. 12 // factory farm hybrid au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12: hey, if enderman hybrids can be born with endermen, and piglin hybrids can be born in a bastion, what about things like pig or fox hybrids? (tw: dehumanization, implied murder, factory farming, general horror themes)

**#12: a pig with extra steps.**

There are two ways hybrids are born.

Most hybrids that live long are born the first way. They have human parents, or occasionally hybrid parents, when that happens. Either way, their parents are  _ player, _ and that’s the thing that matters here. When the hybrid is born, it’s not normally obvious at first, but as they age, the layer of  _ mob _ on top of their player code starts to express itself. From there, how the parents act, well. It really depends on the parent, doesn’t it? The good ones, and even sometimes the bad ones—there’s at least  _ some _ obligation, typically, to the things you make. Besides, you saw them when they looked human, at first. It’s obvious: they are a player first, even if they’re changing now.

This isn’t to say that it always goes  _ well. _ There are many hybrids out there who can attest to that. Humans are unique in how willing they are to reject their own young, even with explicit evidence that their young is  _ theirs. _ Humans are very willing to reject that which is different from them when they don’t understand it. Being born among players means learning your inventory well before you learn a single thing about your instincts, but it also means learning the streets before you learn your native biome just as frequently.

(There are good humans, it’s good for Techno to remember. There are Wilburs, and Phils, and all sorts of people who understand that an extra layer next to player still means  _ player, _ even if it doesn’t mean human. There are.  _ There are. _ It’s hard to remember sometimes, but he burns the safe faces into his brain where he can so he doesn’t forget.)

The first way is fraught. Frequently fraught.

It’s just that it often ends safer than the second way a hybrid can be born.

If a player can be born with mob laid over their code, then a mob can be born with player layered over theirs. If player-born hybrids grow into their mob features, then mob-born hybrids grow into their player features, until one day, almost against their own will, they’re  _ aware _ that they’re different. There’s no going back, then, once you’re  _ aware, _ no more thinking that you’re just some goat or skeleton or fish amongst others. You  _ know, _ after that. (Knowing that you don’t fit anywhere exactly, Techno thinks, is the constant plight of the hybrid.)

There are better and worse ways for that to happen, too. Players born in the End often speak of a longing to return to the empty cities and the dragon’s call, so Techno assumes it can’t be all that bad there. Hybrids born in the nether, well, that really depends on the variety. Sometimes he wonders what it would be like being born in a bastion, surrounded by the nearly-intelligent piglins, or in a village, where the mobs can practically talk. Those don’t really count as wild-born. They’re practically born into a family already, the lucky bastards, and a family that won’t reject them, even if the player in them make them smarter and more in need of people to talk to than any of the mobs around them.

Being born in the wild is another thing altogether, be it overworld or nether. Wild-born hybrids have a fight for their survival, the same as any wild animal or hostile mob, except they can think well enough to know that there might be more. Techno sometimes wonders what it would be like being born into a plains biome or something. Boring, probably, interspersed with moments of pure terror (that is usual for him). A constant fight to find food (that is not usual). Natural predators, probably, to be scared of (Techno is glad he never met wolves in a situation quite like that, that by the time he met wolves or bears or predators that are not human for the first time, it was because Techno was teaching himself to be a predator as well).

Later, Fundy will admit the salmon thing is a lie, which… rather obviously, it was, given that, among other things, Wilbur was  _ far too young _ to have a kid like that. But he needed  _ some _ way to easily integrate into the SMP, and it was easier to claim he was Wilbur’s kid from L’Manburg, instead of a wild-born hybrid who’d come into awareness in the taiga and fended for himself for years before anyone managed to start taming the area. It’s one of the cleanest cases of a wild-born hybrid being granted citizenship Techno knows, so of course it’s a Wilbur Soot con job. (Wilbur had a good heart. Has. Techno doesn’t like thinking too hard about it. It’s the biggest thing he inherited from Phil.)

Mobs, at least, don’t typically reject their kids the way humans can, so even once a hybrid starts walking and trying to find ways to talk, they won’t normally get their heads bitten off or anything if they were born amongst zombies or bears. The mobs around them recognize them as kin. Small comforts from the Programmers. It’s not like the Programmers have done anything else nice for the glitches they’ve yet to stamp out.

Not all mobs are wild, though. And in those cases, well—

—humans are uniquely good at rejecting their young, let alone some animal’s young. Not every human is Wilbur, especially when they own the hybrid’s mother.

All of this is to say: Techno is probably about two when his player traits start growing in, but he’s four when he’s  _ aware _ for the first time, on the floor of a redstone-powered barn that the owner only bothered to walk into when it broke or required maintenance, and he is also four when he realizes, with a moment of confusion and fear, that it’s probably sheer luck that he hasn’t gotten caught by any of the devices meant to kill the pigs in the farm yet. He has, after all, already started growing in directions piglets don’t, and is already older than piglets are when they’re fully-grown.

Then again, maybe he’s been caught and doesn’t know it. He’s player. He respawns, whether he’s  _ aware _ yet or not.

He is four, and  _ aware, _ and it doesn’t take long for him to realize that he is going to need to sink his hooves into that  _ awareness _ as deeply as he can if he ever wants to  _ leave.  _ A pig with human accidentally grafted over it. A pig with respawns and two legs accidentally programmed over it. The words echo in the back of his head until he’s figured out human language well enough to realize what the words about him  _ meant.  _ Born to animals, so must be an animal, right? And, conveniently, an animal that respawns. (He was born with a heart too, he thinks. A pig with a  _ person _ and a  _ heart _ and—) 

He will have to be smart to survive. That is how this works, in the world. Smart, and quick, and able to stop  _ crying _ fast, because it’s not like machinery and a human farmer actually give a shit about the livestock, no matter how  _ good _ they are, or how  _ valuable _ they can be. Especially when he has no one to teach him to talk and barely anyone to teach him to respond to the occasional commands he’s issued, commands he doesn’t intend on following forever.

He won’t follow them. Not after the terrified days staring at bloody redstone and blades and water streams and traps. Not after staring down a real butcher’s axe with the sort of paralyzing fear that only being  _ aware _ could bring him.

No, he will have to be  _ smart,  _ to survive, and sharp, and all the things that no one is looking for. He knows this at four. (He knows this forever.)

(And the following years—well, in hindsight, they shape Techno more than he’d care to admit. That is what happens, though, when you’re a hybrid born  _ domesticated, _ as though  _ domestic _ is a word that Techno would dare let anyone describe him as any longer. He knows better. He knows better to the core of him. He draws his blade on anyone who uses the word, and they back away, because by the Programmers, he will  _ not be domesticated, _ not another day longer.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> of all the aus in here, this is the one i am most likely to do something else with at some point in the future, even given that it is _very much_ a messy, messy au. that being said, there are also high odds i never touch it again, so here, take this concept and run free.


End file.
